


bugger vows

by jswoon2



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, Foursome - M/M/M/M, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 18:52:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3702379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jswoon2/pseuds/jswoon2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This, Lord Commander, may be what you’ve been looking for. There are quite a few women – maybe even a man or two – who would like to see what exactly the Lord of Winterfell has to offer.” </p><p>Or, in which Jon takes men of the Night Watch to meet with Stannis and stop at a brothel which used to be an inn for the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bugger vows

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the mere thought of Jon Snow (Kit Harrington) and his pretty lips.
> 
> (A product of me loosing my internet connection at elevenat My under co. writing blog: http://sinkpages.tumblr.com/)

Under orders of King Stannis, the Night Watch moves.

Jon knows better than to upset the king after refusing to accept his legitimacy. Bastards often dream of becoming recognized, being able to accept their fathers’ names, but Jon knows he is no Stark. He may possess Eddard Stark’s blood but he is a Snow. _Never forget who you are_ , the Imp had told him. If not for Stannis, Jon may never have understood the lion’s warning.

“Perhaps we should rest here for the night. King Stannis will have to be patient this time.” Dolorous Edd suggests.

Within a few hours, it will be nightfall. The small band of men he brought with him are all tired, weary in their saddles. Even beside him Ghost seems to need a rest.

“There’s an inn nearby. I don’t see the harm of stopping there for the night.” The way Pyp speaks of the inn gives Jon an eerie feeling. It’s as if Pyp know something Jon does not. They have no other choice. With winter coming, it is better to stay inside at a shoddy inn than outside in the freezing cold.

 

………………….

 

He seethes at the truth. What once was an inn as Pyp argues, is now a small brothel run by widower and his two daughters.

“Best stay here for the night. It’s not often this place is graced with a black brother’s presence.” The inkeep – Brydan, he calls himself – informs. He treats Jon no different than the rest of his brothers though he is Lord Commander.

“We thank you for your shelter.” He replies courteously.

Brydan grunts in reply. Spying a man in black with a hand up his daughter’s skirts, he goes off.

“If a single man breaks his oath in this place, he’ll face punishment back on the Wall.” Jon tells Edd. The way the boy’s head bobs methodically tells Jon that he lost the ward’s attentions long ago. “I ought to replace you with Satin,” he mutters beneath his breath and that, of course, the boy hears. “Be off. We all need a good night’s rest if we wish to meet Stannis before the time is up.”

He treats himself graciously to what is offered. Ale and stale bread is more than he could have wished for. There are even enough provisions to be spared for Ghost who lingers around for scraps. A woman or two shiver at the sight of the large wolf. None comment when they see how obedient the direwolf is to Jon and Jon alone. They look at him like he’s no more than a boy but they are wrong. He’s the Lord Commander.

“You look like if you thought any harder, you’d strain something.”

Sliding next to him on the wooden bench, Satin slips slim fingers around Jon’s wrist. He’s smiling demurely, batting his eyelashes once then twice. It reminds Jon he once was a whore from Oldtown. Old habits die hard.

“There’s a lot to think about.” Jon gruffly answers, using a long swig of ale as an excuse not to reply further.

The fingers around his wrist get daring, slipping until they’re clasped around the meat of Jon’s upper thigh. A closing wound from a week ago from training recklessly with the new recruits a wandering crow brought in. Jon grimaces.

“This, Lord Commander, may be what you’ve been looking for. There are quite a few women – maybe even a man or two – who would like to see what exactly the Lord of Winterfell has to offer.” The Oldtown whore wastes no time in pressing their thighs together. Any man of the Night Watch would assume they’re merely sharing body heat as they do on the Wall. None would suspect the wandering fingers reaching for the laces on his breeches.

“I have all that I need,” says Jon. Satin only scoffs.

“You might be trying to convince yourself of that but your instincts tell you otherwise.”

Clearing his throat, Jon looks around to see his men all occupied. Some with women in his lap, others close to it. Even some of the men Jon presumed had a stronger resolve – a stronger resistance to such temptation – flirting with the vows they made when they took the black.

“Perhaps, it would not hurt.” He refuses to look at Satin’s smug smile. “Bring the two boywhores, I feel they will do. I’ll be in my quarters.”

Never before has he been so lucky to be called a lord. Brydan can offer only so many rooms to Jon’s men. Many content to sleeping on a solid floor so long as warm furs involved, Jon faced no argument when a private room was given to him. After all, the place once was an inn. (Most rooms now are used for different purposes than the once were, however. Jon tries not to think about it. Doesn’t want to know what has ended up on his mattress.)

He knows he imagines the eyes watching him go to his quarters early. Ghost does not so much lift his head as he walks past. He found comfort of his own. A bone that the kitchen wench tossed him after serving the rest of the small stew she could make.

Flexing his burned hand – his sword hand – Jon shuts himself in his room and paces. His vows. His vows mean so much to him as Lord Eddard Stark instilled upon him, still the thought of bedding someone again leaves a strong impression. The way that he was looked at as they walked in stirred Jon in a way that reminded him of Ygritte.

“Lord Commander.”

Standing in his quarters, three men wait to be seen. Satin lingers in the back, waiting for invitation.

Jon beckons Satin forward first, grabbing the Oldtown boy by the back of his throat and drawing him in. As they kiss, it’s familiar. He holds Jon in the way he knows he likes. When Jon’s tongue lick at the seam of his lips, he opens easily, swallowing the moans of his commander.

“I want them to fuck you.” Satin hisses, feeling a hand grope his backside. “I want to watch while they fuck you. You’ll look so pretty, Jon. My pretty Lord Commander Snow.”

On a day-to-day, Jon almost forgets that Satin is older than he. More experienced than he. It makes Jon’s heart race in excitement. He even wonders if this is what going to battle feels like for most men.

“And you?” Jon inquires. “And what will you do? This mustn’t all be for me. I know you better than that now.” Inside, the words _you know nothing, Jon Snow_ echo.

Satin merely looks at him coyly. A single motion of his wrist, the other two boys are pushing Jon onto the featherbed. The material is old and worn. It feels satisfying to lie down after a long day on horseback that he nearly doesn’t notice.

A smooth hand reaches into his breeches, another working at the strings. Jon registers a hand pushing up his shirt until it’s bunched under the armpits. His nipples feel cold, even harden at the soft touch of one of the boywhores. The fingers the push against his lips are none other than Satin’s. The Oldtown whore looks at him with affection, a thumb stroking his cheek.

“You have such pretty lips. You would make such a pretty whore yourself.” Satin laughs, sounding of twinkling bells. Jon likes to hear no other. It sounds so much different than Ygritte’s laughter but it entrances Jon all the same.

“He likes to be filled at both ends.” One whore notes. He has a face that tells Jon he, too, is older. His muscles are impressive, his chest well defined as opposed to his friend who is more of Satin’s sinewy build. Satin calls the boy Winter and the latter plainly Snow.

“So much.” Satin answers, withdrawing his fingers. “My Lord Commander must be treated right. He’s been under a deal of stress lately.”

There’s an unspoken agreement to get Jon out of his clothes. The whores make a rush of it, even tearing a bit of cloth in haste. A cock – Satin’s – slips between his lips next to keep him silent (“Oh, how Lord Commander likes to be loud. Best quiet him now. Mustn’t want anyone to know he’s wavering on his vows.” Satin informs.). Gently, an oiled finger reaches around his most private part, circling and teasing.

Whimpering, Jon keeps his hands on Satin’s thighs where he knows the boy wants them. (They more often than not play a game where Jon can only touch but with the right permission.) His cock is leaking against his stomach, not that anyone makes to relieve him. Jon supposes it is part of the pleasure. He doesn’t want to be the first to come, though he knows he will.

Two fingers enter easily. Winter looks in awe at how Jon’s hole opens up so smoothly, mouthing around his fingers hungrily. Even Snow shows he’s impressed, slipping one of his more slender digits beside his brother’s. From where Satin’s cock remains warm in Jon’s mouth, the boy moans, lifting his lips for more.

So they give him more, pumping three fingers each inside the male, watching how wanton he writhes on the bed. Satin strokes Jon’s hair soothingly, cooing at how pretty, how sweet his lips look, how he could be as pretty as a whore.

“Don’t keep my Lord Commander waiting much longer. I do believe he’s deserved to come.” Satin graciously slips himself from Jon’s mouth, kneeling beside the boy’s head. His grip is firm as he begins to stroke Jon’s cock, using all of what leaked from the tip to smooth his actions. “Fucking him on his side would be easier. He’s tighter that way.”

Rolling on the bed, Jon shivers at the sensation of a flared cockhead tapping at his entrance. He can tell without looking, without any mirror to show him, that he’s gaping. His hole is mouthing for anything that will give him what he wants.

A single hard thrust sends Jon sliding on the bed. Satin stills him, rubbing his hand on Jon’s chest and over his hard nipples. Jon doesn’t touch himself, instead draws Satin’s fingers back to his lips, licking and sucking to taste his lover’s essence. The Oldtown whore keeps his strokes in tune with Winter’s thrust until he sees Jon come all over his own chest.

“He still wants more.” Satin observes. Jon’s cock thumps against his chest, still excited, still erect.

Snow waits for Winter to lift Jon’s leg higher and slides in beside. The fit is tight, making the three men moan. The soft sound of balls smacking against Jon’s skin fills the room. Satin knows by the way the whores groan that Jon tightens, his hole working around the cocks filling him.

Pleased by the sight of his lover being used so well, Satin knows he’ll be the next to come. With Jon sated there is no reason not to. He only needs a bit of encouragement to make it happen. Turning around on the bed, kneeling firmly, Satin weaves his hands through Jon’s unruly hair and tugs.

“Pleasure me with the lord’s kiss.” He tells Jon.

With his back arched, he leaves no bit of skin out of reach Tentatively, Jon licks a long stripe along the crease, his breath and beard ghosting against the pale skin. He kisses Satin there as if it was his lips, dirty and wet. The way Satin holds Jon’s head makes Winter shiver in delight, spending suddenly. His cock throbs within Jon as he fills the male with seed. He does not pull out until Snow is finished.

Greedily, Jon clenches down on empty air, keeping the warm seed inside him. When Satin no longer holds himself up the way he did before, Jon knows he, too, has come. He feels the pressure of the Oldtown whore resting his partial weight on his face. Jon’s lips and tongue are numb but he presses on, exploring the most precious parts of the male until he moves.

“So sweet, my Lord Commander.” Satin praises. He looks at Jon’s backside, red from thighs colliding against the pale skin. The bastard’s mouth is wet with saliva, lips red and puffy. “Do you feel full, Jon? Have they filled you to your liking?”

It makes Jon flush a dark shade of red, but he nods all the same into his pillow. It was so much his liking. The pleasure of being filled from both ends would not be something Jon ever discovered had Satin never once slipped a slender finger inside his Lord Commander as they fucked between furs one night before.

“Next time, I will find you another boy. A third to keep you nice and warm.” Satin says. Says it like a promise.

 

………………….

 

“The Night Watch thanks you for your hospitality.”

The next day Jon feels his hind sore and his lips swollen. Beside him Satin keeps a knowing smile, although the ward doesn’t know why – isn’t sure if he wants to know why.

“The Night Watch is always welcome so long as you keep the wildlings out.” Brydan flashes a protective glance to his girls.

Jon agrees. “Aye,”

He will come back. Bugger his vows for now.


End file.
